


Viva Voce

by spacehopper



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Throat Frottage, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:07:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22457713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: What is the vibration of simple human flesh, compared to the knowledge beyond human understanding? But it is foolish to try and understand how these things work, metaphors and symbolism and sometimes, yes, the connection of bodies.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 4
Kudos: 78





	Viva Voce

Jon kneels between Elias’s legs, one hand skimming over the creased line of his trousers. Elias can tell he’s focusing on the actions, the brush of fabric against his cheek as he lifts his head, allowing the revelation of his throat, the curving ribs of it waiting to be plucked by breath and captured terror. Jon grips Elias’s ankle as Elias reaches out, drawing a finger down the exposed length, hard enough to make Jon gasp in pain. But he doesn’t withdraw, simply watches in mute anticipation as Elias frees his already hardening cock. 

The terror surges forth in Jon as Elias begins to stroke himself, colored by something else that leaves him licking his lips with a hunger Elias knows Jon still shies away from naming. What lies between them is more than desire, more than fear. Perhaps beyond definition, though some part of Jon still wants to make an attempt to define it, just as some part of him still struggles with the question of why he’s here, why he agreed to this mad request. 

But Elias has long stopped questioning such desires. Instinct, supernatural control, simply primal impulse, it hardly matters. All he knows, all he needs to know, is that he wants. And that Jon wants as well. 

His cock is fully hard, but he takes a second to admire Jon. The sweat beading his brow, dampening a stray lock of hair Elias pushes tenderly aside, and the pink tip of a tongue darting out to wet his lips. His bright, beautiful eyes, framed by dark lashes, staring up at Elias. Never blinking. Waiting, always waiting to receive what he is given. Elias can’t help but be drawn into their depths. 

They both start when the head brushes against the Adam’s apple. The mark of original sin, the forbidden fruit of the knowledge of good and evil. It’s so fitting Elias almost laughs, but the sound is stifled when Jon swallows, driving the thought from his mind. It’s all Elias can do to hold himself back from pressing his cock fully against the instrument of Jon’s power, and to feel the horrors as Jon fills to the brim. But no, best to take a delicate hand. He wants to enjoy this, and the chance may not be granted again. 

The silence stretches between them, tension coiling tighter until Jon swallows again, and Elias hisses, and adjusts his position, closer to Jon. Pressing the length of his cock fully against the ridges of his flushed and eager throat. Jon shudders. As closely connected as they are now, in mind as well as body, Elias knows it’s as much anticipation as fear. Undercut by a shameful pleasure at Elias’s regard, at his appreciation of the terrible beauty Jon creates when he speaks. And his ever hungry curiosity at what horrors might be yet to come. 

“How will I read a statement?” 

The sudden question is a surprise, and the startled moan of a response, the stutter of Elias’s hips, is enough to make Jon jerk away, stopped only by the hand Elias has tangled in his hair. Jon steadies, tries to move his neck, but Elias will no longer let him, watching him struggle before he huffs in exasperation and stills. Then Elias answers his question.

“You won’t read. I’ll give it to you.”

At this, Jon’s eyes widen, lips parting and eager tongue darting out, as if he can taste the secrets on the air. For a moment, Elias holds him in suspense, enjoying the low, frustrated heat of his own arousal, the headiness of holding what Jon wants in his grasp. All while Jon knows only Elias can give him what he should not want and desperately needs. And then he releases.

The statement he stole is of no real significance, and all the purer for it. Removed from any plots and conspiracies and ritualistic manipulations, all that remains is fear. And the fear is what matters, enough for Jon to be nearly overwhelmed, going lax, held up only by Elias’s hands on his head and his own stubborn will. But he’s stronger than that now, too strong to fall to it for long. He makes no noise as he finds himself again, and finds the spot where the statement has come to rest. When he clears his throat, it’s all Elias can do to choke down another moan. But he can’t distract Jon now. Not when he’s so close to fulfillment of such a long held desire. 

When Jon starts to speak, Elias’s hands tighten, but remain otherwise steady. Jon starts slowly, tentative in a way he rarely is, but gaining confidence as the statement overtakes him. Each word sends a cascade of vibrations along Elias’s cock, and he feels the fear in a way he hasn’t before. 

It shouldn’t make a difference, the physical sensation. What is the vibration of simple human flesh, compared to the knowledge beyond human understanding? But it is foolish to try and understand how these things work, metaphors and symbolism and sometimes, yes, the connection of bodies. The pulsing tones echoing from a fragile human throat, shaped to greater purpose. The heights of fear cascading down to the abyssal depths, all rumbling along his length, even as he struggles to maintain their position, slick with his precome and Jon’s sweat. 

As the statement reaches its climax, it is all Elias can do to hold back, trembling on the edge of an ecstatic terror he has not felt in so long, bowed and bound and guided along by the rhythm and melody of Jon’s voice. Even as the vibration, the sweet slide of his cock threatens to overwhelm him, he forces himself to wait. 

And then Jon pauses. 

The surge of frustration makes him bite back a curse, the tang of blood flooding his tongue as teeth dig into his lips. Any sound from him would ruin the moment, ruin the ritual this has become. The statement is not yet finished, a rich, terrible morsel still lodged in Jon’s unholy throat. And Jon would not, can not leave it there. He looks into Jon’s eyes, and sees an ecstasy matching his own, a desire for release from the high note he’s holding, the fermata before the final chord resounds. 

Slowly, carefully, Elias moves his hand, drawing a finger across Jon’s lips, slipping it inside to press down on his tongue. Once, twice, sweeping along the twitching muscle, drawing back, pulling forth, command and benediction. And finally, Jon says the final words, tipping them both over the edge of the known, into the endless, screaming abyss of secrets that are not theirs, that they desire all the same. The fall drags a cry from Elias as he comes on Jon’s face, marking him and making him and unmaking them both. Jon keeps their eyes locked, for just a moment longer. Long enough for Elias to draw his fingers across one reddened cheek, and to bring them to his mouth and taste a sweetness not his own. Then Jon sways, and collapses against Elias’s steady thigh. 

The minutes tick by, and they remain. No longer caught, or bound. But tied by their experience. When Jon wipes his face on Elias’s trousers, there’s a reluctance to it. A perfunctory disgust that isn’t as natural as it would’ve once been. And when he stands on shaky legs, Elias stands with him. Holding out a hand, too high for Jon to comfortably take. 

But take it Jon does, eyes slipping shut, pressing his throat into the warm width of Elias’s palm. Silent, and still. And yet coiled with that same anticipation. Carefully, Elias draws Jon into his arms, running gentle fingers through his hair. And smiles, as Jon murmurs the only thing left to say.


End file.
